We Have Lingered in the Chambers of the Sea
by AMarguerite
Summary: The beginning of a trilogy of Greek tragedy, in which Albus and Gellert meet, discover the greater good, and discuss knitting patterns. Indeed, there be CANON slash. Complete.
1. Time to Murder and Create

A/N: This is the first chapter of the first part of a trilogy of fics on the Dumbledore/Grindelwald relationship. I'm calling the series _Insiduous Intents_. All titles are taken from the fantastic poem _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_ by T.S. Elliot. I also apologize if I've any incorrect German. I don't speak the language, so I relied on a google-found English-German dictionary and phrasebook.

* * *

Elphias stood there, forlorn, his gray overcoat and his brightly colored scarf waving in the breeze. "Are you sure you can mange on your own, Albus?"

Albus Dumbledore caught the scarf before it flew away. "I can manage."

"I wish you could come," Elphias said wistfully. "It won't be the same without you."

"Someone has to look after Ariana," Albus replied, very calmly and evenly. He refused to acknowledge his frustration, but he felt the bubbling resentment in the back of his throat. "And Aberforth has to stay in school. He's nearly literate now."

Elphias sniffed back tears. "You're so _good_, Albus."

"Don't cry," Albus said, with a bad attempt at hiding his impatience. "Just write to me extensively about everything you see." He flicked the tears off Elphias's cheek with his long, thin fingers.

Elphias looked up at him with a hero worship that suddenly irritated Albus to no end. He and Elphias had been friends- good friends; indeed _very _good friends. But there was only so much about Elphias that could interest him, or keep him interested.

He was nice and obviously cared for him and would remain loyal unto the death, but Elphias could never quite understand what it was that Albus wanted to say or wanted to do. He beamed and basked in Albus's accomplishments with a sort of simple, vicarious joy that Albus suddenly, intensely could not stand. He repressed the feeling and smiled instead.

"I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time, Elphias."

"It won't be the same," he repeated.

"I dare say it won't, but you will have a marvelous time in Greece regardless." Albus kept his smile kind and friendly. "Swim in the Mediterranean for me. I've always wanted to swim there." He checked his pocket watch. "Your Portkey goes off in five minutes. I'll leave you to it."

"Goodbye Albus," Elphias sniffed, still crying.

Albus felt a sharp twitch of resentment. Elphias was going off to Greece. Albus had to stay and take care of a mad sister who regularly blew up the house and an illiterate brother with a strange fondness for goats. There was no reason at all for Elphias to be upset in the slightest.

"I hope you have a wonderful time!" Albus lied, smiling still, waving, and then, as soon as Elphias turned away, Disapparating with a pop.

He arrived in the ramshackle little house in Godric's Hollow and suddenly, violently hated it. He hated how small it was, he hated that it smelled perpetually of goat, he hated that he had to _live there _making sure the loathsome thing didn't fall to pieces, he hated that while everyone else was out there _doing _things, he had to sit in a house he had worked so hard to _leave_.

"Took you long enough," Aberforth snarled, trying to reset the hinge on the run-down white gate by apparently smashing it in with a rock.

Albus hid any signs of his distemper and turned to smile at Aberforth. "I came as soon as I could." He flicked his wand at the gate, repairing it and restoring the fence to white-picketed splendor with a little spark of golden light

It served only to incense his brother yet further. Aberforth threw the rock down in vaguely Albus's direction. "Oh goodie. Saint Albus is back again. You know, you're going to have to come out of your room for more than meals now."

"I know," Albus said with a patience he certainly didn't feel. His room was his escape. He'd transfigured it and charmed it and made it Impenetrable and filled it with books bought with his hard-won prize money. It was the only place in that stark, crumbling house that he felt actually at home.

Aberforth turned to go to the side shed for the animals. "Bathilda Bagshot visited. She wants you to go see her. Probably about your latest Transfiguration article."

After a belated inquiry after Ariana ("She's eaten and she's napping, not that you care") Albus sent his luggage flying up into his rooms and trekked across the lane to Bathilda's house.

"She's not in," called a voice. Albus turned in minor surprise; the voice seemed to be coming out of the tree.

"When will she be in?" he asked, looking up at the foliage curiously.

"Shortly. She went off to buy tea cakes. She'd run out since she had an unexpected visitor."

"You, I suppose?" Albus asked, once he'd made out the shadowy figure peering at him from behind the leaves. "That or my brother Aberforth and his goats. If the former, it is a pleasure to meet you and if it is the latter, I am deeply sorry."

The branches shifted and, Albus caught a glimpse of the red binding of a book, and a flash of a darker red robe. "The former. I assume you're the Dumbledore boy my great-aunt keeps insisting I'll get along with?"

"I am Albus Dumbledore," he admitted.

"Hm," replied the figure in the tree. "Did you really write that article in _Transfiguration Today_?"

"Probably."

"I thought it was good, but you didn't focus quite so much on the ramifications of your proposal. Admittedly, it is very hard to _know _the effects, since it was theoretical and you'd never cast it, but if you actually used the spell you suggested-"

"-which might have been slightly difficult, as it requires partially transfiguring someone-"

"-and you couldn't secure permission from anyone else? That's silly. Just do it when they least expect it."

"A shock of that sort might kill someone, particularly if they aren't expecting it and if I'm not sure what the limits are on the spell."

"You must kill in order to create. What is anything new but the death of the old?"

"I doubt I could justify murder in the name of _anything_, let alone transfiguration," Albus said, a little sharply.

"You seem careful; you wouldn't have killed anyone." The book shut with a very audible snap. "There is a time to murder and to create and they are often only a millisecond apart. If you really have such scruples getting in the way of _progress_, then transfigure yourself."

"That would make it very difficult to chart the results." Despite his alarm at the trend of the conversation, Albus couldn't help but admit that he was enjoying it. People rarely debated him on his findings. They preferred to ask him questions and get glazed looks in their eyes when he tried to explain.

"You didn't have anyone you could trust to take accurate notes?"

Albus thought of Elphias, dull, kind, faithful Elphias. "No. No one who could understand what I was trying to accomplish by such an experiment."

The tree branches rustled. "Oh, there's my great-aunt, coming up behind you. I've got to get in." Albus caught a glimpse of a curly mop of blond hair and a flash of a deep, blood-red robe that jumped nimbly from the branch to the open window-sill.

"Albus!" trilled Bathilda Bagshot, trotting up the lane, paper bags trailing behind her I the air. 'How _are _you? I was so sorry to hear about your poor mother."

"Thank you, that's very kind," Albus said automatically. "How are you, Mrs. Bagshot?"

"Oh _please_, call me Bathilda!"

It was the sort of awkward exclamation that Albus dealt with by smiling pleasantly and projecting a sense of kindly intelligence that bordered on the condescending.

Bathilda cleared her throat. "Yes, well, I am glad to see you. You latest article was really quite fascinating, and- oh! My grand nephew is here. Gellert Grindelwald. He's been lonely, poor lamb. No one his age around, after all. I'm sure you'll like him. He's such a sweet, charming thing. He has a spot of trouble with his English so if you talk too long in English he just sort of stares at you blankly, but his speech is excellent and I'm sure you speak German, so you ought to get along _splendidly_. He's staying with me for the summer to work on his English. Gellert was expelled from Durmstrang, which is all for the best, really, since most wizards from Durmstrang go bad in the end. His parents were really quite upset, though, so he has to go about educating himself now and he chose to come over here. I'm something of an expert in magical history and he is really quite the good student. Always reading and asking questions. I don't see why they expelled him. He's such a good-natured and sweet-tempered boy, always dresses well, in such cheery colors, and he's _brilliant_, actually. Aside from you, I think he must be one of the most brilliant young minds out there. If he'd only gone to Hogwarts like I suggested, then what a future he'd have ahead of him!" She finally paused to draw breath and, having found her keys during her long monologue, opened the door and ushered Albus inside.

"Gellert! Geeeeeeeeeeeeellert! Come down! We have a visitor!"

After a brief thundering on the stairs, the blond from the tree appeared in the sitting room. "_Ja, tante?_"

Gellert was an extraordinarily handsome boy, with blond hair curling down to his shoulders, bright blue eyes, and a positively infectious grin. He wore slightly altered Muggle clothes under his blood-red robe, as was the current fashion. Gellert was lithe and not quite as tall as Albus, but he crackled with intelligence and energy. Albus liked him immediately, which he found very strange, because Albus never liked anyone immediately. He always took his time to think about people, to reflect on their attributes and whether or not he wanted to spend time with them.

"This is Albus Dumbledore, Gellert. He lives across the lane."

"_Ich freue mich, Sie kennenzulernen,_" Albus said, with a little bow.

"Your accent is very good!" Gellert exclaimed in German, with a brilliant smile. "A pleasure to meet you, too."

"See? I knew you'd get along wonderfully." Bathilda beamed at the two of them. "Lovely. Now, I'll just go make tea." She bustled out, her paper bags trailing after her like the body of a long, fat snake with an enormous head.

Gellert watched her leave then turned to Albus. "Sorry," he said, in unaccented English. "Sometimes I have to pretend I don't understand English when she's around. It's the only way for her to let me be. She goes out to the library and looks things up in the German-to-English dictionary and leaves me alone in my bedroom."

"That's quite alright. I understand the necessity of having a room of one's own. What were you reading?"

Gellert brightened further. "_A Treatise on Two Societies, or Why Magical and Muggle Societies Evolved as They Did. _Have you read it?"

"It's a bit dry," Albus commented mildly, sitting down in a cushy armchair. "But I found it to be a very worthwhile and thought-provoking text."

Almost dancing in excitement, Gellert tore up the stairs and raced back down, clutching the book. "Here. What did you think of _this _passage, on the possibility of fusing the two together?"

"A bit idealistic, but it seemed feasible given the proper circumstances."

Gellert crowed in triumph. "Finally! I finally found someone else who agrees with me! Everyone else said… you have a charming phrase for it, oh yes, I was nutty as squirrel poo for thinking it."

The two fell into a heated discussion, switching easily to German whenever Bathilda entered the room (Gellert liked fooling his great-aunt and Albus was happy to oblige, since it made Gellert happy). After hearing the two of them roar with laughter over some of the books they had both read and found immeasurably stupid and hearing Gellert's long-winded answers in German to the question, "What's so funny?", Bathilda left them be and merely went back to her study to edit a book she was writing.

Albus couldn't describe the feeling of talking to Gellert. They understood each other perfectly. Gellert would race to conclusions Albus had also reached, and never had the chance to explain to anyone who would understand. It was sort of a cerebral infatuation, and he admired the mind that could understand his, and possibly exceed it. He couldn't quite explain the feeling of competition, of finally, actually belonging, of finding a mind that could meld with and understand his. It was wonderful, it was elating- it made living in Godric's Hollow again suddenly seem more bearable.

Gellert had this wild recklessness to him that Albus found intriguing. He glittered alluringly, dangerously, like a wildfire just about to blaze out of control, or like the sea, tossing, and crashing up just before a storm. His thoughts raced along, and Albus raced with them, suddenly, fiercely free and happy again.

They talked until sunset, when Albus belatedly realized that he had to feed Ariana.

"I have to go."

"Where?"

"Home."

"Let me come. We can keep talking."

Albus couldn't think of a reason to say 'no'.

From that point on, they were utterly inseparable.

Ariana lurked in her second-floor room, suspiciously quiet, refusing to come out. Aberforth dealt with her then, because she refused to see Albus. Albus could feel Aberforth's resentment rolling off him in waves, but Albus found he couldn't help spending more time with Gellert than with him. Gellert was fascinating. Their conversations were fascinating. They pulled him in like an undertow. As every day passed, he became more and more infatuated with Gellert, more drawn to his presence, to his ideas, to his smiles and melodious voice. Albus had never before met anyone who could understand him so fully. He knew he ought to have been taking care of Ariana, he ought to have been watching her and playing music for her when she was upset, and repairing the house when she blew part of it up, but the damage would be there when he and Gellert returned and the two of them could fix it much more quickly than just Albus himself.

As a result, he didn't see much of Ariana, and saw even less of irate, sulky Aberforth. That summer, it was all Gellert.

The summer passed by, bright, sweet, sharp. Later, Dumbledore found memories to be like long strands of silver taffy, but then everything was like a candle just after you lit it- flaring up with an unexpected brilliance, if only for the moment. That summer was made up of those candle-flare moments, some which burned eternally in his mind, and others that faded as the years progressed. There were three in particular that flared in his mind, warming him against the bleak winter of increasing age.

The first:

"Why do you lock up your sister?" Gellert asked. They lounged in what passed for the library of the house. They had known each other two weeks, but it felt like years. Already, they could finish each others' sentences and, for the most part, anticipate the other. It was strange and wonderful and new for both of them, because Albus was so contained and channeled and controlled that few people ever knew what he was thinking, and Gellert was so quick and so brilliantly unorthodox that no one could follow his well-calculated leaps from one idea to another. As usual, Albus sat behind the desk, and Gellert sat on it, holding onto the edge, swinging his legs.

Albus was very still, eyes not moving from his copy of Nietzsche. "Why would you think that?"

"It's fairly obvious, Albus. She looks like a blond version of you and she never leaves the house. Why?"

"It upsets her to do so," Albus said evenly, every moment calm and controlled and nonthreatening as he stuck a bookmark into _Beyond Good and Evil. _

Gellert plucked the book out of Albus's hands, examined it, and handed him another from a stack on the floor. "If you must read Nietzsche, read _Also Sprach Zarathustra_I want to hear your take on the idea of the Übermensch. It is the idea of overcoming oneself and the laws of one's society to create a new society and new system of morality. But you have distracted me." He flipped idly through _Beyond Good and Evil _and put it aside. "Why does it upset Ariana to be outside?"

Albus wished he had his book again, so he wouldn't have to look at Gellert. "She always hated being outside, ever since she was young. We don't know why."

"Liar," Gellert said affectionately, falling back onto the table and pillowing his head in his hands. "You do know. You just don't want to tell me."

"It's her affair, not mine, and thus not my place to tell."

Gellert reached up and pushed Albus's hair back behind his ear. Gellert did not quite grasp the concept of 'personal space', or, if he ever had, had ceased to apply it to Albus. "Your hair is always very messy." He met Albus's eyes with a cheeky sort of grin.

Albus looked deliberately at the ceiling and twiddled his thumbs. "No, I'm not letting you use Legilimency to see into my mind."

"You're no fun."

"You're not very good at it, anyways."

"Why not let me practice?" Gellert asked, and Albus heard the smile in his voice. Albus avoided looking at him, because when Gellert smiled like that, Gellert always got his way.

"Because some things ought to remain private, I suppose," Albus said, idly, gently. He stared up at the ceiling and that was why he noticed that it had begun to crack. With a sharp, "Move, Gellert!" Albus grabbed Gellert and they tumbled over the desk and Ariana blew a hole in the floor of her bedroom.

Gellert swore in German, then in Hungarian, and then possibly in Polish. "What was that?"

"Ariana," Albus snapped, dusting plaster out of his auburn hair.

"Why?" Gellert asked.

"I don't know." It was hard to keep the defeated tone of voice from overwhelming him. They were still tangled together on the floor, in a muddle of robes and arms and legs. Gellert reached up and flung his arms around Albus's neck.

"It's alright if you don't know," Gellert said placidly, "but you do know and you just don't like lying to me and that's why you're upset."

"You don't need Legilimency," Albus retorted, though he relaxed into Gellert's embrace. He was tense and stressed and he hated dealing with Ariana and Gellert was warm and comfortable and smelled like pine and sweat and shaving soap. (After that day, Albus could never smell shaving soap without thinking of Gellert; perhaps, however unconsciously, it was one reason why he started growing a beard when Gellert left.)

Ariana started to scream.

Albus and Gellert struggled up and, after shooting a quick '_reparo_' at the ceiling, Albus took Gellert by the hand and led him upstairs.

He knocked on the door. "Ariana? It's me. It's Albus. Will you let me in?"

"Mama and Papa shut the door, shut the door, don't let anyone in Percival! For God's sake keep the boys out!"

Gellert raised a blond eyebrow. Albus unlocked the door to find Ariana sitting bolt upright in bed, her nightgown slipping off and her hands in her hair, as she rocked back and forth.

"Ariana, everything's all right. Father dealt with the boys." Albus let go of Gellert's hand and walked over very slowly, showing her that he had a wand and he wasn't some Muggle set on punishing her.

"Danger, danger, danger, danger," Ariana whispered.

"There is no danger. Aberforth is asleep right next door and Gellert and I were right below you in the study. No one can get in, Ariana. Go to sleep."

Albus wasn't sure how much of a comfort Gellert was. He always had a certain dangerous edge to him, a quality that sparked and crackled like lightening. Even as he leaned in the doorway, with his merry, ever-present little grin, his stillness seemed somehow unnatural and terrible. Gellert needed to be running or pacing or thinking or _doing_. It was like watching the too-calm surface of the sea- you knew that something was going on and it was probably going to be very dangerous indeed.

"Fräulein, do you want a story?" Gellert asked, tipping his head to the side, his blond curls cascading over his shoulders.

"No stories!" Ariana shrieked, sitting bolt upright and clutching her covers to her chest. "No stories! Stories are lies! Lies are bad! Tell me Ariana, you cannot lie! You must tell me what those boys did!"

Albus sat down on the edge of Ariana's bed and gently took her by the arms. "Ariana, you are safe. You are a good girl for telling the truth."

"The truth, the truth, the truth makes daddy mad," she babbled. "Papa's gone, Papa's done."

"Papa would want you to go to sleep."

"He saw the blood and that made him angry. What did they do, Ariana, what did they do? It hurt, it hurt!" She shrieked and sobbed and Albus put his arms around her, rocking her gently. Gellert Disapparated and Apparated in the blink of an eye. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding an old, leather-bound book written in runes.

"_The Tales of Beedle the Bard_," Gellert read aloud, off the cover the small, stained book. To Albus's surprise, Ariana calmed down somewhat. Gellert did have a very gentle, mellow voice, entrancing and oddly commanding. At the end of the tale (the familiar 'Tale of the Three Brothers'; it had been Albus's favorite as a child), Ariana was calm and breathed normally and wasn't screaming.

Gellert looked thoughtful, as if trying to determine just how much control he had over people with his voice. Then, with his special, charming smile, when he wanted something: "Ariana. Will you go to sleep now? _Sein gutes Mädchen__Du bist ein ungemein hübsches Mädchen_. All beautiful girls ought to be good." He hummed a bit until Ariana let go of Albus and fell back against the pillows.

Albus left the fire-less lamp on, since, if it was dark, Ariana often mistook things and blew them up out of fear. Gellert said he understood the need to just blow something up, which equally amused and alarmed Albus.

"You haven't felt the need to blow anything up since coming here?" Albus inquired, because he really wanted to be sure. He sat back down and peered curiously at _The __Tales of Be__e__dle the Bard_.

"I like it here," Gellert explained, perching on the arm of Albus's chair. "You've been wonderful. Back home, people can't keep up, so I get frustrated and I have to go off on my own for a few hours before everything's alright again if no one interrupts me. I don't have to, here." Then, with Gellert's particular brand of endearing quasi-innocence: "I like you. I like being around you. It's never dull. Your hair is all messy." He ran his fingers through Albus's hair, the strands sliding through easily, like water through his cupped hand. "Imagine, though, what we can do together! We are the only people who will be able to truly understand one another, the only people who have realized just what we can accomplish. What's that?" Gellert pointed at a stack of papers poking out from the drawer of Albus's desk.

"Nothing," Albus said quickly, trying to shut it.

Gellert was too quick. "Knitting patterns?"

"I like knitting patterns," Albus insisted, too mortified to admit to the brutalizing fact that he was poor. His prize money had gone to paying for school, for paying for food. There wasn't any left over for clothing and he had no way of getting a job, not with Ariana needing constant surveillance. He could always go for prizes, again, but it took too much time and effort to make sure that Ariana wasn't setting fire to herself. Again.

"You like knitting?" Gellert asked gleefully.

"Yes. It's very relaxing. You ought to try it."

"I'd rather go to London," Gellert announced. "I want to go to London to see a play. Can we go see a play?"

"It's late at night, Gellert."

"That's when Muggles _have _their plays, Albus. Pretend things always look real when it's dark out." He hummed a section of a dark, booming, bellicose sort of song. "I've been to Muggle plays before, and Muggle operas. I want to take you to see Wagner's operas. It's strange, but Muggles understand this sort of thing- art and music and literature- much better than we do. Without magic, they must rely on their imaginations and so they create these things. Astonishing, isn't it? And _this._" Still humming, Gellert grabbed Albus and forced him into a slightly awkward three-step dance. "This is called a _waltz_. They dance like this. I'm sure we've got something similar, or will get something similar, but they created this. Marvelous, isn't it? They're so _fascinating_. It's so strange what they invent to entertain and educate themselves. Just _think _of what they could do with their energy correctly channeled!" He twirled Albus out of the waltz pose and bowed, with an elaborate hand flourish. "Let's go to an opera, you and me. Or a dance, or a play! I want to see Wilde. I've heard he is your best British playwright."

Albus could not help but be swept off by Gellert's enthusiasm. "I've always held a fondness for Shakespeare."

"Him too! Let's go to London!"

Albus thought about telling him 'no', but the idea was too tempting. Gellert knew just how much Albus hated staying in the house in Godric's Hollow, understood just how _desperately _Albus longed for an escape of any kind.

"It's only for an evening," Gellert said, tilting his head to the side and smiling so charmingly it was very easy to see how Gellert always got his way. "You're tired. You need the escape. Besides, we're _learning _about what Muggles think."

Albus made a few protests for the sake of form, but allowed Gellert to smile at him until he gave in. "Alright, Gellert. You win. We'll go. How much does it cost to see Muggle plays?"

Gellert's grin seemed to split his face in two. "I'll take care of it. Here, transfigure your robe into an overcoat. It looks like this." Gellert swept his wand across his chest diagonally, his robe turning into a fairly respectable black overcoat, and revealing the modified Muggle clothes he wore underneath. Albus followed suit and the two Apparatus out of the house (that prison of a house) into a side-street of London.

After Gellert dragged him around to see all posters for the different plays playing that evening, they went and saw a play by Wilde called _Lady Windermere's Fan_. Albus enjoyed it immensely. Gellert had managed to get them a box (Albus was sure Gellert had enchanted the Muggles into giving it to them, whether through the sheer force of his personality, or through magic Albus preferred not to know). The box was decorated with plush red velvet, and Dumbledore soon saw the appeal of going to the theatre. It was wonderful to relax into the plushy cushions and to lose yourself in someone else's life for a few hours. Wilde was wonderful too- he was a fantastic playwright, who deftly mixed comedy and tragedy for a thoroughly witty look at Muggle life. Albus adored it. Gellert pronounced himself unsatisfied and dragged Albus to Oslo, where they watched a play called _A Doll's House_, written by the Norwegian playwright, Ibsen. Ibsen was almost a darker version of Wilde. They dealt with the same issues, but Ibsen took a more serious approach and his characters did not have Wilde's happy endings.

Gellert infinitely preferred Ibsen, as he said when he decided he wanted to see what Muggles drank and they sat in a little coffee shop that overlooked the empty, tree-lined streets.

"Wilde seems unrealistic," Gellert said, trying to figure out how he was supposed to drink coffee. "His endings are all _happy_."

"So you find the ending of Ibsen's play, where the wife _leaves _her family, to be much more realistic than Wilde's, where the wife stays?" Albus had watched the Muggles out of the corner of his eye. He dumped sugar-cubes into his cup and stirred them around.

Gellert followed suit. "Of course! Muggles have a much laxer view of love than we do."

"Wilde seemed to propose that only love can save us." Albus tapped his spoon on the side of his cup, as he'd seen the Muggles do, and placed it on his saucer. "In the third act, Lady Windermere left her husband, on the suspicion that he has been having an affair with a woman named Mrs. Erlynne and no longer loves her. She decides to run off with Lord Darlington, a friend who at least loves her, when Mrs. Erlynne herself comes in to show her that Lord Windermere loved her after all and that he and Mrs. Erlynne didn't have an affair. Mrs. Erlynne saves her. Why? Maternal love. Mrs. Erlynne was Lady Windermere's mother."

"Ah, but there are no mothers in Ibsen except for Dora, our delightful main character, and even then!" Gellert tried to drink his coffee down very quickly before realizing it was hot and spitting it back out. "Ow. Even then, she is more child than mother. She was the one in trouble; her husband certainly wouldn't stand by her and since she had no mother to help her right her wrong, she _left _at the end. These Muggles are all mother-less. Don't you find that to be so?"

"All Muggles are children, you mean, Gellert?"

"Yes. And _we _must exercise that benevolent parental influence. They certainly don't have it."

"Mrs. Erlynne is a sort of wish fulfillment, I suppose? A mother who comes in and makes everything better?"

Gellert pursed his lips. "Magic obviously can't do all of that, but Mrs. Erlynne wasn't perfect, either. She originally abandoned her daughter to go off with a lover, remember?

"So obviously, we cannot abandon _our _responsibilities towards the Muggles but, since we have done so- or, at least, they _think _we have done so-"

"-we must then act as the long-lost parent they so obviously long for. This is why you ought to have read _Also Sprach Zarathustra_," Gellert replied, dumping milk into his coffee. He blew on it, took a sip, and made a face. "Ugh. How can Muggles _drink _this stuff? But, regardless, the book is one long cry from some sort of savior."

"And we can be that savior?"

Gellert set his cup down in a state of such animated excitement that his coffee drowned the tabletop in a deluge of mostly milk and brown foam and coffee grinds. "Why not? Albus, why not? Obviously we can't solve all of their problems, and they must be relieved of that delusion."

Albus made sure none of the Muggles were looking and Vanished the spill. "I suppose… but what you're proposing, Gellert, is to make Muggles second-class citizens, without the freedoms they now enjoy."

"What freedoms?" Gellert demanded dismissively. "They live trapped within prisons of their own limitations, with only their imaginings to give them comfort against the harsh brutalities of existence. If we ruled, if wizards established a society, there would be no need for us to hide, or for them to suffer quite as much as they have. If they are hurt, we can heal them, if they are hungry, we can feed them. Imagine a world where pain exists only until it is your turn to see the Healer!"

"But how do we achieve that?" Albus asked. His hand lay open on the table, so Gellert reached over and traced a little design on his palm.

"By any means necessary. It is for the greater good." He traced the symbol over and over, his smile bright and dangerous and electric as sheet lightening.

"For the greater good," mused Albus.


	2. Mermaids Singing, Each to Each

The second:

They sat on the banks of the river, dripping wet and steaming side by side in the sun.

Albus had always wanted to learn about the merpeople and so one morning Gellert had climbed up the drainpipe, shaken him awake, and taken him swimming down the stream to where Gellert, after hours of research, had found a mermaid community.

They visited it every morning, after Albus made sure Ariana and Aberforth had something to eat, and they had learned to speak Mermish.

On that day, they had finally become fluent and, to celebrate, they feasted on comfits Albus had bought and champagne that Gellert had somehow found (probably from his great-aunt's cellar; Gellert could charm anyone into agreeing with him).

"Now, you see," Gellert said, refilling Albus's glass, "we have expanded our basis of influence." He brimmed with enthusiasm, overflowing as much as Albus's glass of champagne.

"Can you imagine a world where all sentient beings- muggles, wizards, magical creatures- _all _of them, were united?" Albus attempted to lick the spill off of his right hand without dropping his glass. "It seems so wildly improbable, yet-"

"Yet with the right planning, it would be _possible_," Gellert finished, his eyes curiously intent on Albus.

"The merpeople-"

"-with whom we've already established good relations, and then the giants-"

"-not so difficult with the right gifts, but first the-"

"-goblins, to form a financial basis in order to get the gifts, though it would require-"

"-a complete overhaul of human notions of ownerships so perhaps first the house elves-"

"-but they would require a subservient position for several generations, at least, until-"

"-they could learn about equality, but since they _are _magical creatures-"

"-they outrank the Muggles? No, wizards, by virtue of their magic must rule-"

"-benevolently, Gellert-"

"-yes, benevolently, but Muggles are so close to us, they just need a reeducation." Gellert frowned in thought, unsticking a sherbet lemon. "Oh, you're bleeding. Did you notice? It's flowing down the side of your glass."

He had somehow scraped the skin off of the tip of his right indeed finger and, lost in the euphoria of triumph, hadn't noticed at all. "Oh. There's alcohol in champagne though. Do you think that ought to have sanitized the wound?" Placing his other hand to his heart, tilting his face up to the sky, and extending out his hand: "Alas, fair Gellert! I fear this is the end! Oh, what a wasted youth! What a tragedy!"

"Alas, my hero! Let me suck the poison out for you," Gellert said, equally dramatically. They had gone to see an opera the night before, which had been full of the most wonderful music Albus had ever heard and deliciously, delightfully over the top acting. Abandoning his half-melted sherbet lemon, Gellert took away Albus's cup and stuck Albus's finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding.

It probably shouldn't have made Albus suddenly feel the heat of the day and turn vaguely crimson, but it did.

"Gellert, a question," Albus said hastily. "Blood magic. What of that?"

"What of it?" Gellert asked, sliding Albus's finger out of his mouth, in a slow, deliberately sensual sort of movement, his tongue flicking at the scrape.

Albus tried to get his mind back on track and only managed a stupid question. "What do you think of it?"

"Blood unwillingly given never produces powerful spells." Gellert was still holding Albus's hand in his. He glanced at Albus's cut.

"Willingly given," Albus said lightly.

Without taking his hand off of Albus's, Gellert picked up his wand and placed the tip of it at the cut, squeezing Albus's finger very lightly, so that blood touched the tip and vanished.

He met Albus's eyes a moment, and then, for no reason at all, they both had to suppress grins. Gellert flicked his wand at the river and the water twisted its way up, a sea-dragon that curved up into the sky and then doubled back in and around itself, forming a circle with a line through it. Without appearing to do much other than just think of it, Gellert made two more jets of water spurt up to contain the circle within a triangle.

Gellert turned to Albus, practically bouncing up and down in excitement. "Did you see that? I just _thought _it and it happened. Look at what we've done, what we can do!"

"What's that symbol you've made?" Albus asked, trying not to focus on the fact that Gellert still held his hand and it was a surprisingly delightful experience.

"It's the Deathly Hallows. Remember the story I told Ariana? About the Peverells?"

Albus glanced over at Gellert and pushed his glasses up his nose with his free hand. "Is that the reason you came to Godric's Hollow?"

"Yes. The Cloak is here, I think."

"You think that it's real?" Albus asked, thoughtfully. "It seems almost- almost bizarre that with three objects, you have enough power to subdue the world. It's a bit like collecting chocolate frog cards only to discover that when you've got them all you've somehow won eternal life."

Gellert tipped his head back in a long, melodious laugh. "It's not that. It's the power. I'm not afraid of death. I suppose it's because I'm too young to know what it will be for the person who's dead, but I have-" He cut off, looking slightly troubled and drew the symbol on the back of Albus's hand for comfort. "You know why I was expelled? I didn't mean to. I've got a temper. I haven't been angry since coming here, because you're here, but people don't understand and then I get angry and then…." He shrugged. "I don't have your control."

"Did you… hurt someone when you lost your temper?"

Gellert looked grim and sulky and upset, so Albus sat cross-legged and said, "Here, lie down a bit." Gellert rested his head on the part of Albus's leg just above the knee, unwilling to let go of Albus's hand, which he clutched almost like a security blanket.

"Yes. They didn't understand, so we dueled. And- and he wasn't fast at all…. He was clever, but I beat him in marks on exams, and he was always very slow and he was so predictable." Gellert flung his other arm over his face, so that he wouldn't have to look at Albus. "He made me so _angry_, and he didn't even _try _to block himself-"

"Shh, shhh," Albus replied, smoothing out Gellert's soft, golden curls. "You made a mistake. You'll learn from it."

"I did," Gellert said slowly, lowering his arm and meeting Albus's eyes. "There was- there was a strange sort of power, an intoxicating sort of feeling, when you realized that another person depended on you to survive. It's good to feel that, but at the end, when it's over- it-"

"It's a waste," Albus replied, Gellert's fair curls sliding through his slender fingers like sunlight. He glanced back over at the river. "Show off. Your water display's still there."

"Really?" Gellert asked, shifting. He was curious, more than anything. "I haven't even been thinking about it. I wonder why. But Albus- it- it's hard to explain. Some people are so bull-headedly stupid and some people just stand in the way of progress that the world is better off with them dead."

Alarmed: "But how can _you _make the distinction?"

Scowling: "I _will_, when it comes down to it."

Sharply: "_I _have never met anyone who I wanted to kill because I felt it to be right. I will never feel that killing is the best answer."

"That's because your father was arrested for it," Gellert snapped, pushing himself off Albus's lap and scowling. "You don't understand the need to kill. It's for the greater good. If you kill one wizard because he carries a disease that will kill thousands, then you are right and justified. There is justifiable murder. You were right; I was careless about it before, but I _know_ now. Only kill when you have to and- and you're not _getting it!_"

Gellert had sulks, Albus remembered, with an intense flash of panic. He had sulks where he had to go away for several hours to be on his own and possibly blow things up. It suddenly seemed like the most horrible thing in the world to have Gellert leave.

"Come on, Gellert. I don't want to fight you."

"No," Gellert said, making an obvious effort to control himself. "It's wrong of us to fight when we can do so much more together."

"Exactly," Albus replied, much relieved. He really hadn't cared what Gellert said. All that mattered, very suddenly and powerfully, was that Gellert was _there_, with _him_. Being without Gellert had somehow become the very definition of hell and it was beyond horrible. How had he come to base so much of himself and his happiness on Gellert?

It was a very dangerous thing to do, but he couldn't help it. He- he _loved _Gellert. He loved him, he loved him, and life without him was infinitely more terrible now that he knew Gellert than life before he met Gellert had been.

It was strange to suddenly realize it. He had been fascinated, infatuated with Gellert's mind before, but finally finding someone who understood him, and understood him completely, was such a joy in and of itself, Albus hadn't noticed when he'd fallen in love.

"Let's duel," Gellert suggested, abruptly. "I'm bored. I want to be doing something."

"As you wish," Albus said, and he stood and stretched. He wrung out the puffy sleeves of his shirt, decided to forgo his vest, coat, cravat, and robe, and waited for Gellert to finish dressing (he did; Gellert always dressed properly and dressed well). They bowed and began.

Gellert was a wonderful dueler- impetuous, quick, and knowledgeable. It was a pleasure to duel with someone he couldn't defeat after four or five spells.

The spells whizzed through the air between them, a bright rainbow of sparks and jets of color. After a while, the ordinary curses grew dull and the two of them began to experiment, as they always did with each other. They tried casting two spells at once, they tried transfiguring each other and the stones and the grass and the trees and the world itself.

Crack! a snake flew at Albus, crack! it dissolved into smoke, crack! the smoke swirled up to hide him, crack! it turned to water that swirled up at Gellert, and knocked his wand out of his hand, washing it away.

Gellert lunged after it and, in doing so, accidentally tackled Albus in the knees. They tumbled backwards, Gellert swearing in German as they rolled down a hill and collapsed in a heap at the bottom.

Albus groped blindly for his glasses and somehow managed to grab Gellert's cravat instead.

"Gack," said Gellert, twisting awkwardly, so that Albus was on top of him.

"Oh, sorry." Albus, the back of his neck burning, released Gellert and rolled over, so that they sprawled side by side in the grass, arms touching.

It was strange, but they always seemed to be touching somehow, now. It was one of those things that had come on gradually, like the realization that Gellert's eyes weren't really blue after all, but the color of the depths of the oceans, or the realization that life without Gellert was the worst possible thing imaginable. Albus had never been in the habit of touching people, and his wisdom and intelligence generally so barred him from finding an equal, he had fallen out of practice, touching. Gellert didn't like to be touched, usually. He flew into a rage when someone did, but that someone never included Albus.

Albus wasn't sure why, but he craved it suddenly, needed it as much as he needed to talk to Gellert. No one else came close to having a similar mind. He needed to be continually touching Gellert to make sure that he was still there, to make sure that he hadn't invented an actual friend for himself out of an insane desperation and loneliness.

Gellert was almost too good to be true (almost, until Albus caught the strange turns Gellert's conversation took and Albus had to change the subject or they wouldn't agree on something, and Gellert might get upset and Gellert getting upset was the worst thing in the world). Albus curled his fingers around Gellert's fingers and Gellert squeezed back, friendly again.

"That was good," Gellert said, sounding more cheerful. "We anticipate one another, so it was fun. Here." He handed Albus his glasses. "There you are. You can see now."

"Thank you." Albus let go of Gellert and pillowed his head on his folded arms. "You now, Gellert, a lot of what you say makes sense."

"Of course it does!"

"Well, obviously. I agree with you."

Gellert grinned at him, which suddenly made Albus indescribably _happy_. It was foolish, it was stupid, but he would do absolutely anything to keep Gellert smiling.

"I read the Nietzsche. They all seem so _lost_, Gellert."

"And their operas- remember that French one you dragged me to?" Gellert tilted his head to the side, his blond curls, burnished gold in the sunlight, rippling around his face. "What was it? The one where the man called up the devil to grant him his heart's desire."

"_Faust_? I quite like Gounod. I prefer him over Wagner any day." Albus smiled. "Like Wilde, he believes in the power of love."

"And in ridiculous happy endings," Gellert said, with a good-natured harrumph. "Because he _loved_, Faust didn't get sucked into hell after all. God _saved _him at the last minute. Too bad Nietchze said that the Muggle God is dead. They don't have anyone to give them their happy endings, except, perhaps, for us."

"I rather like happy endings," Albus replied cautiously, "though I do admit I always hesitate upon seeing a _deus ex machina_."

Gellert twirled a strand of Albus's hair around his forefinger and Albus reveled in the feel. It was a sort of dove's belly soft warmth in his stomach, having Gellert play with his hair. A comfort, a delight- he loved Gellert, he did. There was no getting around it. There was no way he could ignore it.

He loved Gellert, mind, body, soul- it was like finding a part of himself he always had longed for, without ever knowing it.

"Albus, you're falling into the Muggle trap. They make these things to escape from their lives. They want happy endings since they don't have them."

"So we should look on all works of artistic merit as an attempt to rise above the misery of everyday existence?"

"That or proof that existence really is that miserable."

Albus smiled up at Gellert, who sat cross-legged, still twirling Albus's long, straight auburn hair through his fingers. "What, is life really that terrible?"

"Not since this summer," said Gellert, with a brilliant smile that suddenly made Albus wildly, indescribably happy.

"It was very lonely until I met you, I have to say," Albus admitted. "Godric's Hollow isn't a prison anymore. Have you read any Shakespeare?"

"A bit. I don't like _Romeo and Juliet_. It's silly and I hate Romeo. If he loves someone, he ought to _know _and not keep switching between what's-her-name and Juliet."

Albus closed his eyes at that. He was too full of hope to open them and make anything a reality. "He's young."

Gellert made a dismissive noise. "He's our age, Albus."

There was a pause. Albus slid an arm out from behind his head and Gellert took his hand.

"I wish I was better at palm reading," Gellert said, examining Albus's palm. "You have nice hands. But what about Shakespeare?"

"In _Hamlet_, there's a line that goes 'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so'. Read _Hamlet_. It's much darker. You'll like it better than _Romeo and Juliet_. Hamlet is a little older than they are, but still young- at least, I read him as young- and he _thinks_. Admittedly, he thinks a bit too much, but depending on your reading, he's either impetuous or indecisive, which, in and of itself, is proof of the line. There is _fact_, unalterable fact, but I don't think anyone can really understand objective truth. We can get close, but there is always something to render our interpretation incomplete- but I think there must be a _right _interpretation and a _wrong_ one, regardless."

Gellert played with Albus's hand, stroking the palm, drawing little designs on the back, intertwining their fingers together. "Ah, so to summarize: there is _fact _that must be interpreted, correct?"

"Correct."

"And there is one _correct _way to do so?"

"Correct."

"How can one determine between correct and incorrect? Who would know the difference between right and wrong?"

Albus opened his eyes to look up at Gellert, who smiled and looked angelic, with the sun lighting up his damp, mussed hair in a sort of unexpected, incongruous halo. "Everyone ought to."

"But do they?"

Albus thought of the boys who had set on Ariana. "Admittedly, no. That's why I wanted to become a school teacher, to help wizards and witches learn the difference."

"A teacher?" Gellert demanded, terribly amused. "That's as good as knitting. You can always surprise me, Albus."

"Keeps you from getting bored," Albus said, a touch too lightly.

"I can't be bored with you," Gellert reassured him, pressing their hands together and comparing them. "Look. Your fingers are longer and my palm's bigger, but they're mostly the same size. I'm distracted again. Albus, you can't teach the whole world the right thing to do if you're simply a schoolteacher."

"I know," Albus admitted. "It's very disheartening."

"You can be so much _more_." Gellert grinned. "Albus, stay with me. Join me. Let's go to find everything. Let's find the Hallows. We'll create just the world we've been talking about. For once, the world will be good and the Muggles will be so happy, they won't need plays to convince them that they aren't trapped."

"You surely wouldn't leave without me," Albus said, alarmed at the thought. "But, Gellert, if I do go off with you, you must limit yourself. If you must act against the established rules of morality, it must be for _the greater good_ and nothing else."

Gellert flopped down beside him, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting on his chest, his posture an exact imitation of Albus's. "Alright. I grant you that."

"No more experimenting your new spells on other people. Your great-aunt mentioned that at tea the other day. You can't just go around cursing people just to see what happens, or just because you get angry. If we're going to do this, there must be set rules."

"You _will_ join me then?" Gellert asked, as they lounged side by side, their hair mingling in the soft green grass, their bodies almost, but not quite, touching.

"To collect the three?" Albus asked.

"Yes. The Elder Wand is the most important though. I think- I think, once we have the Elder Wand, we establish the sort of society we've been talking about and then we can devote our resources to finding the last two." He rolled over so that he blocked out the sun and Albus could look at him in the eyes. It was very easy to get lost in Gellert's eyes. His eyes were the color of the sea, a sort of blue that really wasn't blue, and pulled you in to the very depths. It would be very easy, Albus realized suddenly, to lose himself in Gellert, to completely forget himself within Gellert's mind and ideas and grin and gaze. Gellert propped his chin on his hand and, with the tip of his wand, traced the symbol on the bare bit of Albus's chest, where his shirt gaped open. The line, the circle, the triangle. The line. "The wand first."

Albus closed his eyes, enjoying the touch. "And then the stone."

A circle, slow and wide and deliberate. "Alright. The stone next."

"And then the cloak."

A triangle, the touch of the wand on his skin feather-light.

"But," Albus asked, "why not the cloak while we're here, in Godric's Hollow?"

"I've been looking around and asking my great-aunt about everyone here- she thinks I'm _interested _in English country life with all the gory details about how a gut pigs and praises my _intellectual curiosity_- and it seems most likely that a family called… P-name. Close to Peverell, but still different enough so you wouldn't make the connection. I don't like English names."

Albus searched his memory as Gellert drew absent triangles on his skin. "Potter?"

"Yes! Potter. But their primary house is in Kent now and they are mostly old people or middle-aged couples with very young children." Gellert kept drawing the triangles. Albus couldn't help the rush of blood to his skin, the tingling excitement at the continual touch. "I could try charming the old ones. I'm good at charming people, but they are _very_ old and probably senile. Middle-aged people can ignore me better. We ought to wait until their children have grown a bit."

"Makes sense," Albus said, starting to lose focus on the actual words and simply enjoying the sound of Gellert's voice.

Amused, playfully reproachful: "You're not listening to me."

"I'm tired. It's sunny and I want I want to nap."

"Fine. Sleep well, my friend. We'll talk later. We have so much time ahead of us." Albus tried to sleep as Gellert traced the symbol again and hummed Wagner until the two of them slept, Gellert with his head pillowed on Albus's chest, the two of them a tangle of long limbs and damp clothes and long, intermingled hair.


	3. Drop a Question on Your Plate

The third:

It was Albus's birthday and a little over a month since they first met. They were absolutely inseparable, now. They almost didn't need to talk to understand what the other one would say, but they liked hearing each other's voices and so talked at each other to the exclusion of almost everyone else. No one else could follow their rapid-fire discussions, the half-said thoughts that they both mentally completed, without completing them aloud, as they jumped from subject to subject.

"I made breakfast!" Gellert exclaimed, with a fiendish enthusiasm. His eyes blazed in pleasure as he sent plates flying violently through the air to their place settings. Gellert had stayed over again that night, as he had for the past few nights. They could lose track of time talking, and then Albus would start to droop and Gellert would, as quickly as the change of tides, drop into a sudden sleep on the desk, on the bed where he sat, or (to Albus's secret pleasure) on Albus himself.

"You cooked?" Albus asked, amused. It never failed to fascinate him how _sudden _Gellert was, and how he brimmed with enthusiasm.

"I did! For you and Aberforth and Ariana."

"What is it?"

"_Meggyes __leves_. Hungarian sour cherry soup. _You _will love it."

Albus couldn't help but grin. "Gellert, you are the only person I know who thinks that _soup _is a good breakfast food."

"I can't cook anything else," Gellert explained cheerily. For no reason at all, he kissed the top of Albus's head as he passed, and Albus felt a certain thrill of shivering pleasure.

"What was that for?" Albus asked.

"I felt like doing it." Gellert flicked his wand and a soup tureen levitated into the middle of the table.

He had somehow discovered that Albus liked lemon drops, too, so there was a box of them next to his plate. Gellert delighted in getting Albus gifts. He never came over unless he had a box of _something_ for them to share in between plotting a take-over of the entire wizarding world.

"I have a birthday present for you."

His grin was infectious. Albus found himself smiling in spite of himself. "There are lemon drops beside my plate, Gellert. I noticed. Thank you."

"No, this is an _actual _present." Gellert stuck his tongue out at him, playfully. "Candy doesn't count. Guess."

"It's a phoenix."

"No, though I will get you one if you don't get one yourself. You'd make a good phoenix-owner."

"It's… a shrubbery." Albus sat down and glanced up the stairs of the cramped little dining room to look for Ariana and Aberforth. For some reason, he didn't want them to be there. He didn't want them to interrupt this.

"_No_, Albus, but you do have quite the imagination. Guess."

"A sphinx."

"Those are too dangerous, even for _you._"

"Are you saying I'm not clever, Gellert?"

Gellert grinned. "No. I'm saying you're not good with sphinxes. That and I couldn't hide one behind my back. Guess."

"A nice hat."

"No."

"Blood-flavored lollipops."

"Ew. You're getting farther and farther off the mark." Gellert drew a package out from behind his back and dumped it onto Albus's lap. "Socks. I knitted them for you."

He beamed with pride as Albus unwrapped the package to see a pair of the ugliest socks he had ever seen. Gellert may have been one of the most brilliant minds of the century and an unparalleled genius when it came to philosophy and politics and the technical aspects of magic, but he couldn't knit at _all_. It appeared that Albus had three ankles, one of which was coming out from here his toes probably ought to be but apparently weren't. Though Gellert had obviously tried his best to get the colors to match, he had apparently knitted them from all the left-over bits and pieces of yarn that Bathilda couldn't use in her knitting.

Albus held the socks up and just looked at them.

He really couldn't think of anything to do with the… socks, for lack of a better word, though they certainly weren't socks, right there in front of his eyes.

"You don't like them?" Gellert asked, looking crushed.

"Of course I do," Albus lied through his teeth. "I'm just… I really don't know what to say, Gellert. You knitted me socks. It- I can't think of a nicer present. Everyone insists on buying me books. There's always this sad focus on my brain instead of my bunions."

"I'm giving you a book, too," Gellert said. "I forgot to wrap it, though, so it's at home. But I'll go and get it for you after breakfast."

"Really, Gellert, I don't know what to say," Albus added on, honestly. "I- I've never gotten anything like this." He waved the socks.

"No one's ever made you a present?"

"Ariana gave me a migraine on my sixteenth birthday, as well as an interestingly shaped scar on my right knee, but I don't think that counts."

"No." Gellert ladled soup into his bowl. "Now I've made you two presents, soup and socks. They both start with 's'. Do you think that means anything? Have I bestowed some sort of subconscious meaning into your presents?"

"With the letter 's'?" Albus asked, highly amused.

"Possibly." He bent over so that their faces were very close and Albus wasn't at all sure what Gellert was going to do, but he wanted it desperately.

Of course, then Ariana set the house on fire.

Aberforth, bellowing like a wounded bull, dragged her out of the house into the yard (Albus and Gellert had experimented with the wards and managed to make it so that no one outside of the house could ever tell who entered and who exited and just who was doing what on the lawn). Albus, very disgruntled, put the fire out easily, but the smell of smoke permeated the house and everything in it. Leaving Gellert to see what he could do about it, Albus went out into the yard, where, despite Aberforth's silencing charm, Ariana's cries carried through the air.

"Let go, let go! Stop, stop, stop! No, no! Stop! I swear, I'll do anything! Stop, just stop!"

"Ariana," Albus said gently, holding his wand out in front of him. "Araina, it's Albus. Aberforth is right behind you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"That's what they said!" she screeched, struggling wildly against Aberforth's headlock, her booted feet sending up her crinoline petticoats in a vicious froth, like a whirlpool. "That's what they said and they lied and it hurt and Mama cried and Papa's in prison!" She redoubled her wails, somehow breaking or deflecting all the mild charms Albus sent at her. "It hurt and the blood meant I was broken and Mama said my mind was broken too and I am! I am! Go away! Leave me alone, no stop! Stop! Danger! No! Listen to Mama, Ariana! Tell Papa exactly what happened! Kendra, did you hear? No, don't- they did that to my little girl! They will _pay_, Kendra!"

"What made her like this?" Albus shouted.

Aberforth, focusing on keeping Ariana's arms behind her back, grunted out, "She wanted to dress up for your birthday. Unfortunately, though, she was dressed up when those Muggle boys…."

Albus saw his brother trying to form the word, but neither of them could ever say it; had ever been able to say it since it happened. Ariana knew what they wanted to say, however, and went ballistic. Aberforth dropped her when she lit him on fire and Ariana wrenched off a rail in the fence , waving it around, as a make-shift sort of wand. Albus dodged out of the way so that, when she whirled around and accidentally let go, he wasn't impaled.

"Ariana!"Albus called, dousing Aberforth with a blast of cold water from his wand tip. "Ariana, it's Albus and Aberforth! You're safe!

"No, no, no!" shrilled Ariana. "Albus is reading in the garden, stay with Albus, Ariana, you stupid girl, leaving him! Albus ran in when he saw you were gone and now look at you! Now look!" With a howl of misery she lifted her skirts, disordering the white crinolines of her petticoats, then pressed them back down, curling in on herself.

"Ariana, they're gone now," Aberforth said gently, arms outstretched. "Look, it's Aberforth. It's your brother. You're okay."

"No, no, no!" Ariana jumped up, her anger exploding outward and setting Aberforth on fire again. Albus started forward, but Ariana had somehow made a mini-earthquake, and Albus fell down to the knee into a hole where a tree stump used to be and, for his pains, got his wand blasted out of his hand and his palm burned.

Gellert came out of the house whistling Wagner again, and stopped and looked at the both of them, slightly puzzled at how two fully grown wizards couldn't restrain a fourteen-year-old girl.

Ariana let out another shriek and raced at Gellert. She sparked and fizzled with uncontrollable wild magic, ready to blow something, anything up-

"Gellert!" Albus cried, suddenly terrified. "Watch out!"

"I know," said Gellert, who very calmly pulled out his wand and Stunned Ariana. With one last blast of flames, she fell to the ground in an unconscious puddle of blue muslin and crinolines.

They all stared at Ariana a moment.

"I don't know why you didn't think of that before," Gellert said.

"_I _don't use _stunners _on my developmentally disabled _sister_," snapped Aberforth, patting out the fire on his sleeve. "She doesn't understand what she's doing."

"She's a danger to herself and everyone else around her," Gellert retorted, a dull flush of anger rising to cloud his clear, fair skin. "You ought to _take care of her_." There was a certain menace to Gellert's tone that Albus really didn't want to hear, couldn't hear. He blocked it out. Of course they should have kept a better watch on Ariana. Gellert was right.

Albus pulled himself out of the hole in the ground. "I wish there was some way to predict Ariana's outbursts."

Gellert picked Ariana up and she seemed to spill out of his arms.

"Put her down," snapped Aberforth. "Put her down. I don't want _you _touching Ariana again."

Gellert's glare could kill. "Just what right do _you _have to dictate my actions? I never let anyone-"

"He's upset, Gellert. We're all overdrawn since Ariana set the house on fire. Again."

"She can't control it!" bellowed Aberforth, yanking Ariana out of Gellert's arms. "Don't touch her. Don't touch her! You just- just go away! Where do you get off, just showing up in England and ruining our lives even _more_? They didn't have much father to fall-"

"Aberforth!"

At that point Albus realized that he had his wand pointed at his brother's heart. "_Levicorpus_," Albus snapped instead, floating Ariana out of Aberforth's arms and into the house. Gellert had done his best, but he wasn't a very deft hand with household sort of spells. The house still smelled of smoke and the walls were charred around the edges.

Aberforth stood behind him, hulking in the doorway, fuming and dark and overflowing with the resentment that Albus had to repress.

"He's dangerous," Aberforth growled. "I don't like him."

"That is a pity," Albus replied, with a spark of impatience, "because Gellert is my best friend and I will never ask him to leave."

"He Stunned Ariana!"

"Ariana was out of control!"

"That doesn't excuse him from _stunning her_! She never knows what she's doing, Albus!"

'I don't want to argue with you Aberforth."

"You don't? You _don't_? Then do what you're supposed to do! Watch out over Ariana! Protect her! Stop spending all your time with Gellert Grindelwald and focus on your family! What's so important about _him_ that keeps you from looking after _her_?"

Albus whirled around, suddenly furious. "We're trying to create a word where things like what happened to Ariana will never happen again! You don't understand _anything_!"

"I don't? You're the- you're the damn _genius _of the family but as soon as this German kid who got _expelled _says something, you believe it! Who's the stupid one here?"

"You, obviously," Albus snapped. "Learn to read, Aberforth, and maybe I'll pretend that I think your opinions are valid."

With that, he stormed out of the house in a rare display of uncontrolled anger, slamming the door after him. Gellert wasn't in the yard, so Albus stalked over to Bathilda Bagshot's, and climbed the tree in the yard up to Gellert's window.

"Hello Albus," Gellert said, not bothering to look up from his desk. "I thought you'd be by. Look away a minute. I'm not done wrapping. I had to go blow something up because I was angry, so I'm a bit behind schedule."

"Alright," Albus said, leaning back against the tree trunk, one leg dangling off the branch and arms crossed. "I think I understand the appeal of blowing something up, now. It sounds very cathartic."

"It's a very effective method for relieving stress. It's much better than your knitting patterns any day."

The reassuring sound of Gellert swishing his wand around, of bird song, of the nearby little stream- calm, calm. He was Albus Dumbledore, who never lost control. He knew himself and his abilities well enough to know that if he ever did, Ariana's explosions would have nothing on his.

"Aberforth made you upset," Gellert commented, bringing Albus out of his thoughts. "I knew he would. Those two hold you back."

It was the sort of think Albus had always thought, but tried never to acknowledge. "Don't say that Gellert. They're my family."

"They still keep you where you are," Gellert said. "They still trap you here. You can't leave with them here."

"No," Albus said heavily, leaning his head back against the tree. "No, I can't."

"Alright, you can look," Gellert announced, getting up and coming to the window. He passed out a very messily wrapped package in brown paper, tied with what looked to be a black hair ribbon. "For you. It's my most treasured possession, aside from your friendship."

"Thank you, Gellert," Albus murmured, carefully opening the packaging and pulling out the rune copy of _The Tales of __Beedle__ the Bard._ "You'd give this to me?"

"Obviously," Gellert said, with a laugh. "You're more important than the Hallows. It would be very dull going off and finding them on my own. Besides, I couldn't put together the wizarding society we want by myself. I could try, but it would lack something without you. Do you want to come in, or sit in the tree? I can come out into the tree. It looks very pleasant."

"Come on out," Albus said breezily, feeling much calmer. There was sort of an unexpected warmth and tingling comfort in his chest, knowing that Gellert, at least, understood, that Gellert held him to be the most important thing in his life, even above the Hallows.

Gellert slid easily out from the window into the tree and sat next to Albus. Gellert absently swung his legs as he sat, sometimes catching Albus's ankle with his.

"I like _Hamlet_," said Gellert, in a rather obvious attempt to make Albus feel better. "I read _Julius Caesar, _too. I liked that one much better."

"You would," Albus replied, amused. "Political assassinations, the attempt to establish a society different than the current one-"

"That was in _Hamlet_, to some extent," Gellert mused, turning to smile at Albus. They were somehow sitting very close. It was wonderful and unnerving at once. "However, don't you think Shakespeare seems to advocate a sort of _return _to an old order that has been corrupted by recent events? Do you think all Muggles are like that? There's some- some wonderfully past where everything was perfect and they've somehow lost it?"

"I think that is true, to a certain extent," Albus thought aloud, closing his eyes. If he looked at Gellert, he knew he would get distracted. There was just something about Gellert that made him so happy it crowded out a good deal of rational thought. Closing his eyes didn't help at all. He felt permeated by Gellert. He could smell the scent of shaving soap and sweat and pine, could hear the rustle of good cloth as Gellert moved restlessly on the tree branch (Gellert was always moving; there was too much to do, too much to think about to be still), could almost feel Gellert's warmth through the breeze and the heat of the day. "I've been trying to teach myself Latin and ancient Greek-"

"You _would_," Gellert interjected fondly.

"-and the Muggles have some truly astonishing creation myths. I'm not sure what they still believe and what they've rejected, but there's this very popular story about how God created the heavens and the earth and everything in them. When he created the earth, he put together this lush, lavish garden, a paradise on Earth, called… the garden of… Eden? Yes, Eden. All their needs were met and everything existed in a state of perfect harmony and innocence until a snake tempted the Muggle woman, Eve, to break the one rule of the garden and- you'll like the phrase- 'eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil'. They were expelled from the garden."

"And so cast into a world of suffering?" Gellert shifted again, the branch creaking under him slightly. "Fascinating. So they have always wished for a Messiah-figure, have they, to return to a world of perfection that they have left? And they have _always _equated ignorance with bliss?"

"I think it's more of an allegory of growing to adulthood. By becoming aware of their actions and the good and bad repercussions of them, the Muggles _left _the bliss of ignorance and the protection of the parent to enter into the real world."

"Aaaah, I see. They find it necessary to explain the sudden death of delusions at the end of childhood, to explain just why we generally ought to go at life alone."

Albus opened his eyes at that. "Alone?"

"You used to be just as alone as I was," Gellert reminded him, with an almost shy sort of smile.

"It's a bit like Plato," Albus said hastily, because they were very, very close and it would be so easy to lean over in the comparative solitude of the tree and then- and then change everything and he wasn't quite sure if Gellert would get upset and stalk off and that would be so horrible he couldn't even begin to describe it. "He was a Greek Muggle philosopher. In _The Symposium _he has his character Aristophanes tell this myth that people used to be, in actuality, two people joined together in a big, round ball- two men, two women, or a man and a woman- and they were so complete they no longer needed the gods and so tried to overthrow them. Thus, the gods divided them in two and life is one continual search for that other half and thus, completion."

Gellert smiled at him and took Albus's hand in his.

Nothing else really needed to be said, or could be said that the two of them didn't know already, so Gellert just said, "You've burned your hand" and kissed his palm.

They sat in the tree and talked of everything and nothing until Albus felt guilty and they went back to feed Aberforth and Ariana cold sour-cherry soup. Neither of them came down from their rooms, so Albus left trays in front of their doors and Gellert pulled him into the study where they talked about just how they were going to unify everyone and run the world. They talked until it was very late and the candles had turned into little wax puddles, the flame flickering and spluttering for life. Albus sat at his desk, as usual, and Gellert, who didn't like to be still, paced around and plopped down on Albus's bed or desk or the arm of his chair whenever he didn't feel like walking anymore. Albus had discovered a way to get music to play without an orchestra, one of the lazy summer afternoons that seemed the same color as Gellert's hair when he thought back on them. After tinkering with the memory spells so that they could work without a Pensive, they managed to get their memories of the music to fill the room. Combined, the two of them had a very accurate replay- Albus had a better sense of the line and the phrasing, and Gellert remembered the notes more accurately. They listened through some of the Wagner they remembered, Gellert's obvious favorite, and all of the Mozart they had seen, since Albus had recently discovered he preferred Mozart above almost all else, and it was Albus's birthday, after all. Now Tchaikovsky played softly in the background. They had heard a symphony of his two evenings ago and it still held the attraction of newness, still held the freshness of the unfamiliar. Albus found Tchaikovsky slightly too dark at times, and Gellert found Tchaikovsky to be too delicate most of the time, but his music was full of pathos and he had some passages that they both loved. Tchaikovsky petered out in the background, the music sinking almost to the level of the subconscious, as Albus and Gellert wound their way in circles around their plans for running the world once they'd taken over.

"Gellert, I'm not quite so sure that it is _worth _the time and energy to create a symbol for our reign when we haven't even gotten the Hallows yet." Albus took off his glasses and rubbed at his face with slightly ink-stained fingers.

"But we put so much _stock _in symbols," Gellert protested, leaning over Albus's chair. He was very close; Albus could feel his warmth. It was overpowering in the summer heat, with the candles all blazing before them. They had already abandoned coats and cravats and vests and boots. Albus closed his eyes and felt Gellert's blond curls swing across his shoulder. The touch was light, very light, but he swore he could feel it through the thin fabric of his shirt. "We need to focus on that. Are you paying attention, Albus?"

Albus opened his eyes. Gellert, one hand on the back of his chair, placed his hand on the desk, as if forcing Albus to focus on him, only him.

"It is very late, Gellert," Albus commented, in lieu of a reply.

"You can get _tired_, talking of this?" Gellert demanded, his blue-green eyes wide at the novelty of such an idea.

"Every mortal needs to sleep."

"You and I, though. We're so much more than mere mortals." Gellert's smile was dangerous and exciting and entirely seductive. He blazed with energy, with light, with brilliance, with intelligence. He crackled with new ideas as if he contained lightening within his skin, and the play of the candlelight on Gellert's features, highlighting the high cheekbones, the gleaming sea-blue eyes, the almost wild, excited expression, was more fascinating than anything Albus had ever seen before. It pulled him in, down into deep, dark sea-caverns of the mind.

"I am tired," Albus said abruptly, trying to distract himself from his thoughts.

"Well then, a demonstration!"

"Gellert, I want to go to bed now."

"Too quick by half. Look- a… what's a good symbol? Ah, this." He turned forward, his shoulder brushing Albus's as he drew a line, then a circle, and then a triangle. "What is it?"

With a touch of impatience: "The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Invisibility Cloak. Symbols have different meanings depending on the individual, Gellert. I know that."

"No, but we want everyone to have the same understanding of the symbols. Like… a kiss, for example." He bent and kissed Albus on the cheek. Albus could feel the softness of his lips there for a long time afterwards. "What does that mean to you?"

Albus opened his eyes to look at Gellert. The mad gleefulness had faded in intensity for the briefest of moments. Gellert was actually curious. The manic energy still simmered beneath the surface, there was that almost fiendishly joyful smirk hovering at the corners of his lips, but he was careful now, watching Albus, waiting to see if he had finally gone too far.

It occurred to him that Gellert had been planning this the entire evening, if not the entire day.

"It means," Albus said, very carefully, "that you have very bad aim when you are tired."

Gellert grinned, his handsome face alight. Backlit by the candles, he glowed, golden, and Albus was drawn to him- light to light or moth to flame- who knew? Gellert pushed the chair back slowly, until her could rest his hands on Albus's armrests.

"How should I have aimed, then?"

"Like this." Albus slid a hand up Gellert's smooth cheek, and tangled his long fingers into the curls of Gellert's hair. He drew him closer and, after an awkward sort of nose bump (Albus kept forgetting how long his nose was), Albus turned his face slightly and pressed his lips to Gellert's.

It was astonishing, really, how much pleasure one could derive from such a small bit of contact, how suddenly alight and warm everything was again, as if Gellert had sent the lightening bolts under his skin into Albus. It was dangerous, he knew, but how could something so wonderful, so intoxicating, ever drown or destroy him? Gellert's lips were surprisingly soft and gentle, since neither of them really knew what they were doing. They had both read about this, had speculated about it, but, as with most of their experiments, they never knew what would happen until it did. Then they realized the same things at the same time, anticipated each other, but, in the end, they just clung to each other and plunged into the unknown with a heady, overwhelming pleasure in discovery.

Gellert pulled back slightly, nipped at Albus's lower lip, then traced it once with his tongue. With delight: "Do you still want to go to bed?"

"Possibly," Albus replied, tangling his other hand into Gellert's hair and pulling him back down for another kiss. Gellert lost himself then, grabbing Albus by the shoulders and dragging him closer, in a hold so tight it was half-pleasure, half-pain and all gloriously Gellert. It was much messier this time around and it was awkward at first, but it was also so _Gellert_, with the burning passion, with the enthusiasm, with the embrace so tight they could have crushed themselves together and been one person. Gellert's lips were insistent. He covered Albus's face with kisses, tangled his hands in his hair, drew Albus up and to him. Gellert perched on the table, as he usually did, and Albus wrapped his arms around Gellert and they crushed themselves against each other. Albus could feel the heat seeping through their clothes, could feel the softness of flesh behind the cloth as Gellert pressed up against him, his lips open and eager against his throat. Gellert was intoxicating and Albus was so close- so very close to losing his senses in the _pleasure _of it all.

They clung to each other, cleaved together, and it was far too hot, suddenly, so it came as no surprise when Gellert ripped off their shirts, because it took far too much time to unbutton and _take_ them off and it was skin on skin and pleasure and a sort of strange rush of blood to everywhere Gellert touched that was wonderful and burned and overwhelmed.

Gellert kissed down the side of Albus's jaw, licking at the beads of sweat, pushing back Dumbledore's long auburn hair. "Still tired?" (-his breath hot against Albus's throat, warming him and cooling him again as he kissed him and it was messy but glorious-)

"No," Albus rasped, in a voice that wasn't his anymore. "Not at all." He struggled for control against the onslaught of sensation, of emotion, of the sheer pleasure of it all. Gellert began to nip and kiss at his neck, his cheek, his chest, and it became incredibly hard to keep trying to form sentences and speak them. "Why? Do you want to- to continue our discussion on symbolic acts?"

"No, I want to head straight to the demonstration." Gellert looked up, his face alight with a frantic sort of happiness.

"I have no objections," Albus said, fisting his hands in Gellert's soft golden curls, clinging to him, bringing him closer, needing his lips on his. Somehow they tumbled back onto Albus's bed (it was too small so without words they both reached for their wands and transfigured it at the same time and laughed against each others' necks- they were thinking alike, they were one, they were inseparable). It was wild and uncontrolled as bare skin slid against bare skin in a deliciously heated friction. They sweated together and Gellert's breath was still hot against his neck and his face and then his chest and then wonderfully lower still, and it was a divine sort of agony as they tried to push away flesh to meld together, one spirit, bright and shining as the world they wanted to build. It was messy as they pulled at each other and clung and shuddered and loved in the pre-dawn light, but Gellert declared that they had made the sun rise, and Albus, in a sort of languor that surpassed both exhaustion and sentience, kissed him to show he agreed.

Albus was happy, suddenly and completely happy, to such an extent that he realized he had never been happy before. This was happiness- this was understanding. They curled up into each other, a unified, tangled ball of arms and legs and hair.

"Did you have a happy birthday?" Gellert asked, as they lay curled together, tired and happy and completely unable to tell where each one of them began and ended.

"The happiest," Albus said, kissing him again, because the novelty and the thrill and the almost hedonistic pleasure of it had yet to wear off. He thought about saying, 'I love you', but it didn't quite seem necessary. They both knew it and they both thought of it at the same moment. Albus wrapped his arms around Gellert, unwilling to ever let go of his missing half.

Gellert's smile outshone the dawn.


End file.
